


Dissident

by BlackFriday



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Angst, Gen, Introspection, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-13 22:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9145378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackFriday/pseuds/BlackFriday
Summary: "He would never submit. They would never break him, the freedom he yearned for was a calling, freedom was his promised land."A small incoherent collection of works dedicated to Anders.





	1. Buried alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoveLikeWinter1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveLikeWinter1/gifts).



> Translation by the precious [LoveLikeWinter1](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveLikeWinter1).  
> Go and read her stories! :)
> 
> This chapter was inspired by an official short about Anders I read on the DragonAge Wiki, especially this part:  
> “I was no more than twelve when they came for me. My mother wept when they fixed the chains to my wrists, but my father was glad to see me gone. He had been afraid, ever since the fire in the barn. Not just afraid of what I could do, but afraid of me, afraid my magic was punishment for whatever petty sins he imagined the Maker sat in judgment upon.”  
> 

The hand was cold, foreign, clad in steel. It tore him forcefully from the only life he knew.  
Made of cold steel, manacles and chains alike: the mark of slavery and captivity, the fate forced on every enchanter.

The hand was distant, inert, as if frozen. There was not a single anguished gesture, no bid to reclaim him until the very last moment. Anders saw only tears on his mother’s face, resignation mixed in with sorrow.

He watched without batting an eyelid as they dragged him away like a diseased animal; there was relief in his gaze, not a hint of regret. Anders couldn’t believe that expression belonged to his father.

The taste of abandonment was sour, the pang of betrayal almost unbearable, and during that savage parting something was lost forever: the heart of a child, ripped beating from his chest and, since then, buried alive.


	2. Runaway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translated by the lovely [LoveLikeWinter1](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveLikeWinter1/works). <3

"One, two, three, four, five, six against one! Ah, seems like I’ve finally become dangerous.”

As many as six Templars had been deployed to hamper his umpteenth attempted escape and, surprise, they hadn’t just sent regular soldiers to do the deed. This time they’d actually gone to the trouble to send a Captain after him. It seemed the bastards were starting to take him seriously and, while the through somewhat flattered him, this sudden turn of events didn’t bode well for him.

“Shit.” He hissed breathlessly, running in the opposite direction while trying to come up with a damned plan. “Need to come up with an idea if I intend to save my hide, damn it!” He had no intention to ruing is seventh brilliant escape attempt.

Gliding and hiding in the streets of a small fereldan village, he strived to put some distance between the Chantry’s men and himself. He had no intention to put himself within their range, which would allow them to hamper his spells. Acting from afar, catching them by surprise, he threw them back with a mind blast and conjured a wall of ice to act as a barrier. Anders had gotten what he wanted: without causing too much damage, he had created enough panic and havoc in the village’s market to keep the Templars busy for a while. This diversion would have given him the edge he needed, or so he hoped. Unfortunately, three knights broke off from the group, giving chase, and two more suddenly appeared behind Anders, surrounding him.

“No, no, no!” He growled. “You won’t take me back to the blighted Circle this time!”

Like cornered prey, he unleashed all of his power, delving deep into his mana pool and striking the pursuers hard. To his great amusement, he even managed to incinerate all of the Commanders’ hair thanks to a well-aimed lightning strike. The sight of that vain man looking like a plucked chicken was hilarious, and filled his heart with a beaming sentiment of revenge.

“That’s enough!” The officer growled. He was furious, an angry vein pulsing on his forehead.

He suddenly felt a massive magic purge crash onto him. He was left unarmed and defenseless, at the mercy of a puppeteer, yet he didn’t give up, even resorting to fighting with his bare hands until a powerful blow to his stomach knocked him down. He learned just how painful the blows of a fist clad in chainmail could be.  
They threw him into the ground, and he now understood, quite literally, what it was like to eat dirt. He coughed. His face was squashed against the earth, and he could barely breathe. He tried to stand up, but he was kicked back onto the ground and held in place by a knee between the shoulder blades, and a hand pushing his neck down.  
He rebelled; it was in his nature, after all.

“Hey you idiot, I can’t breathe!”

“Anders, Anders, you never learn, do you?” Asked Biff, a Templar they had sent after him ever since his first escape attempt, a detestable character and a true hound when it came to tracking down Apostates.

“Are you aware that if we could end you now, and make up a little story for the Circle? Nobody would question us.”

“You never give up when it comes to getting your hands on me… Frankly, Biff, I think you rather fancy me!” Anders retorted, mocking his persecutor.

Immediately two Templars pulled him upright rather unceremoniously, immobilizing him, and Anders knew he would become a human punchbag soon, very soon.

“Laugh while you can, mage scum. You won’t get away with it so easily this time!”

Then the shower of blows began.

“Good, let the fun begin!” Anders muttered, coughing up blood. Scorning them was all he could do now, and that was the last sensed phrase he managed to utter before passing out.

~*~

His cell was a humid, foul-smelling hole, the embrasure on the wall so small he could barely distinguish day from night. The manacles on his wrists prevented him from using magic, and he’d already scraped his arms bloody in a bid to wriggle out of the damned enchanted cuffs.  
Anders slouched against the wall. They really went all-out on him this time. He carefully felt his face with his fingers: it was bruised and swollen, and despite the cell’s blackness he could see the dark contusions covering his body. The smallest of movement on his part elicited sharp pangs of pain, a further testimony to his pitiful condition.  
To the Void with them! Did they truly believe he would have given himself up willingly, perhaps going as far as apologizing, or worse, thanking them? And did they think that being thrown into solitary confinement would teach him a lesson? If so, they were delusional! He had endured the unforgivable his whole life. They could humiliate him, abuse him, hit him until he was unrecognizable, even leave him to rot in his own waste if so they wished, he would never submit. They would never break him, the freedom he yearned for was a calling, freedom was his promised land.


End file.
